In Another World
by Lemon Icee
Summary: HDMlock, started as drabbles on Tumblr, now a vaguely connected series. Sherlock discovers a hole in the air which leads him to another universe. But in this new world he finds he's missing an important part of him - his daemon. Labeled a freak, he doesn't mind so much when he finds work as a consulting detective, but will his daemon ever appear like it has for all over visitors?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This started out as a series of drabbles on Tumblr that became something of a series, but there's not a whole lot of cohesion, so very sorry XD His Dark Materials/Sherlock crossover. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

It wasn't that it was uncommon for people to cross over. The sliver of a rift between worlds was just tall enough, just wide enough for a child to walk through, and impossible to ignore once it'd been discovered. It was just that not many people were able to discover it, only those with a keen eye and a knack for noticing when something small was very wrong.

Sherlock Holmes had a very keen eye.

So it was that the young man, barely twenty years old and restless, all lanky limbs and bird nest hair, wandered into a new world. It was so very different from his own. No, but London was there, just as it always was. And there were even cars, trains, planes; there was indoor plumbing and electricity. But there was more, and as he stumbled into it, the first thing he was made aware of was that his whole life, he'd been missing something.

Someone.

A woman screamed, a man paled and covered his mouth, and it wasn't that they'd seen Sherlock cross over. He stared back at them, wild eyed. Beside her, an antelope nudged her elbow, closing the small distance between them, and she clung to it. Sherlock frowned, his eyes darting over to the man, noting the shrew sitting in the rim of his hat, shaking. Woman, man, animals were shaking in the streets of downtown London.

"What is he?" She whispered to her husband. "God, what is he?"

Sherlock ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Sergeant Sally Donovan waited in the car, watching as her DI marched up the steps of 221B Baker Street. She wasn't sulking, as such. But they didn't _need_ Sherlock Holmes. He was clever, yeah, but he gave her the creeps. It wasn't just the light in his eyes, the shameful eagerness at the sight of a crime scene. Her lynx daemon curled up in her lap, warming her against the chill she always got when she thought of it. Five years. That was how long she'd known him, and it'd been longer since he'd first crossed over. But now, when he emerged from the flat, trailing behind Lestrade and the DI's grey mutt daemon, the consulting detective was still distinctly alone.

"How can someone go that long without a daemon?" Baizem spoke Sally's thoughts aloud, in quiet discomfort.

"No one should," Sally said, stroking his ear, a nervous tick. Sherlock took a cab, Lestrade and his mutt Joule climbed back into the car.

He stood up, clapping his hands together once.

He didn't need a daemon to deduce who the killer was.


	3. Chapter 3

A short flashback conversation:

S: I don't want to sound rude, but –

L: That's never stopped you before.

S: - BUT. He gives me the creeps.

L: I know. I also know she'll show up.

S: How do you know that?

L: It's not like she doesn't exist, Sally, I mean he's alive isn't he? Look, it's not uncommon. I've heard stories; it takes time for people from other worlds. The daemon comes, eventually. It just takes time.

S: It's been almost a year, and he's been here longer than we've known him.

L: She'll come.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock had tried his best to keep Mycroft from knowing about the bridge between worlds. But his brother saw everything, knew everything, and Sherlock's prolonged absences did not go unnoticed. At first he'd only visit for a few days, but the world sucked him in and soon he was gone for weeks, months at a time. When he returned to his own world, emerging from behind a crop of bushes in a London park, a black car waited for him on the street. He sighed in defeat.

"You wouldn't like it there." Sherlock sat in one of Mycroft's large armchairs, arms crossed, a distinct poutiness in his voice that reminded his brother so much of childhood. A long evening of explanations, supplemented with the surprisingly vast store of knowledge Mycroft already had on the subject, had resulted in this stalemate: Mycroft wanted to visit Sherlock's secret world. And the younger Holmes would do anything he possibly could to prevent that from happening.

"You would be bored."

"It seems to be entertaining you well enough. No easy feat…"

"You wouldn't be in charge there, you'd be nobody. I know how you loathe being overlooked."

"I think I could manage." Mycroft smiled.

"It's a rather small hole to get there, you probably won't fit," Sherlock sniffed.

"_Sherlock._" Mycroft's voice was a harsh blend of aggravation and finality.

The next morning there were two Holmes in the mirror London, oddities to say the least. Both missing something important. But a week later a large horny owl swooped onto Mycroft's shoulder and never left.

Eight years later Sherlock still kept the windows open at night.


End file.
